A Tragi-Comedy of Errors

The car might be dead. When we tried to start her up yesterday morning, she was unresponsive. We tried every little trick we’d learned in the past two weeks to no avail. At the motel owner’s suggestion, we went next door to the brake/exhaust mechanics’ shop, and asked if anyone would come take a look at our car. I told the owner’s wife our story and her husband agreed to come over in a few minutes, even though he was obviously very busy.

When the mechanic tried to start her, she continued to stubbornly resist. He looked under the hood, unscrewed a few things from the motor and made the observation that I had feared, “It’s a piece of junk.” He told us that the head gasket is broken, which was causing all kinds of problems, including the overheating. It could be very expensive to fix, and as he put it, “It may cost more than the car’s worth.” And even if it’s fixed, that doesn’t mean that it will take us as far as we want to go. This is the part where tears filled my eyes and I excused myself. It felt like everything was unraveling at once.

While I kept myself busy pleading with my bank on the payphone, Pete talked to the owners of the auto shop. They arranged to have our car towed to another mechanic who they highly recommended, using all but our last $5. Not only did they not charge us for looking at the car, but they also gave Pete advice on where to stay in Ballina, gave him a map and marked where the mechanic’s garage was, and a card with their phone numbers on it. Even the tow-truck driver offered advice and was unbelievably kind and friendly. If it’s one thing I’m sure of, despite the asshole who broke into our car, it’s that Australians are friendly, caring people, which is something we suspected before our trip, and have since experienced many times.

We’re awaiting the mechanic’s estimate this morning, and we’ll take it from there. Perhaps a bus trip around Australia will be less of a hassle. After exhausting our calling card and making a few collect calls, I managed to get my bank to wire me money, so that’s one less worry we have for the time being.

I think that trying to make an international collect call was one of the most stressful things I’ve had to do so far. First, I called the American operator, which, of course was a machine. I followed the directions, but when my call went through, it got my bank’s automated answering system, so the robot “operator” says, “You have reached a machine, please hang up and try again,” after which it promptly hangs up on you, even if a person suddenly comes on the other end.

After several more tries, I gave up on America and called the Australian operator (a human!) and asked her to connect me, which she did by staying on the line with me until I was connected. A sigh of relief. Not having a way for the bank to call me back, they asked me to call them collect again in a half hour, as they expected it to take that long to get approval to wire us the money. Great, no problem.

A half hour later I try again, this time going straight to the Australian operator—only this time she says, “Sorry, but this number seems to be blocking all collect calls.” I read her the number again, and again. “Sorry,” she says. I explain how that’s not possible; that I just connected to them. “Try the American operator,” she suggests. I follow her advice, with the same result as before: machine, hang up; machine, hang up. I’m determined to get a human, so I continuously hold down the “0” key until an operator answers. I explain to her that I can’t get through due to the machine hanging up on me. “I’m sorry, but I’m not authorized to connect people, we can only do it through the automated system. Try the Australian operator.”

I slam down the phone, and dial with impatient fingers. The Australian operator gives me the same story again, so I ask to talk to her supervisor. He’s not in a good mood, but neither am I. We argue over the fact that they had previously connected me to the exact same number. “Well, that’s not possible,” he tells me, “because our machines won’t even let us do that.”

“Believe me,” I yelled, “it happened. I’m not crazy. Am I in the ****** Twilight Zone?” I slam the phone into the cradle. Ok, so maybe not every Australian is friendly, but it’s probably because they have to contend with us Americans.

Yes, things can be frustrating, but I think Pete and I are doing an excellent job at keeping each other sane. Somehow we always manage to make each other laugh, even if it’s by poking fun at ourselves…there’s more and more material every day.